Improv: Supply Problem
by CritterKeeper
Summary: *Chapter 13 is up!* Darien depends on the Keeper to whip up counteragent as needed...what happens when a key ingredient is unavailable? (please review!)
1. Part 1

This is another improv, this time one that I've been carrying through for a few nights now. It was inspired by a problem at work -- we induce anesthesia with a mix of diazepam and ketamine, and all of a sudden we found out there was a supply problem and we couldn't get diazepam any more. Luckily, we were able to switch to Telazol, which is working just fine, but it got me wondering, what if the Keeper found herself in a similar situation?  
  
  
  
"Supply Problem"  
by CritterKeeper  
  
  
Darien walked quietly into the Keep. He wasn't deliberately trying to sneak up on Claire; his walk was always quiet, the mark of a good thief. He could hear talking, and from the pauses it must be a phone call rather than another person there.  
  
"No, don't *tell* me it's on back-order!" She sounded angry and frustrated. "Look, you're the fifth supplier I've called! Do you have any idea who might actually *have* it?" Footsteps, getting closer, then farther away. "No, I can't use that! Not in this experiment. It's got to be....a *week*?" He could hear her slam her hand against a counter. "This experiment can't be put on hold that long!"  
  
Darien looked around the frosted glass partition next to the door. Claire was pacing up and down, phone cord trailing on the floor. She caught sight of him, and he was surprised to see what he would call a guilty flush. Turning her back to him, she lowered her voice to speak into the phone again more calmly. "Look, Mark, you've come through for me in the past when people said it couldn't be done. Anything, even one vial, could help! Please, just keep me at the top of your list if you track any down?" A sigh, full of frustration and resignation. "Thanks, Mark....I can't tell you how important this is!"  
  
She turned back towards Darien. He smiled warily. "Trouble? I mean, if you're busy I can come back...."  
  
"Do you need a shot of counteragent?"  
  
He held up his tattoo in reply, showing off seven red segments.  
  
She turned to the refrigerator, reaching for a vial on the top shelf, then hesitated. She set the vial back down and closed the door. "Darien, we need to talk."  
  
"Uh oh....this doesn't sound like it's going to be a good talk." Darien had already hitched himself onto the Chair, but instead of leaning back for his shot, he twisted sideway to regard his doctor with cautious but trusting eyes.  
  
Claire leaned back against the counter behind her, arms crossed nervously in front of her. "I'm going to have to ask you to wait for this shot a little longer."  
  
He glanced back at the refrigerator, taking in the single vial on the top shelf. "Aw, crap."  
  
"I just want to try to stretch this as long as I can."  
  
"What's the problem, Keep? Did you forget to start a new batch in time?" he asked nervously.  
  
"I didn't forget anything. It's just...." She sighed. "One of the key ingredients I need for synthesizing counteragent is....unavailable."  
  
"Well...can't you just run to the local witch doctor supply store and get more?"  
  
"I've been trying. Apparently the only company that makes it, had a problem with their production line. *Nobody* has any in stock, Darien, I've been trying all week!"  
  
Darien could feel a quiet trembling inside his chest. His eyes darted back to that single vial sitting inside the refrigerator. "Is that....is that the last you have?"  
  
"I'm afraid so, Darien." Her eyes were full of compassion, with a fair measure of agonized guilt. "It should be enough for a full injection."  
  
"Should be?" he asked nervously.  
  
"Will be," she affirmed more positively.  
  
"But there's none, you know, in reserve?" He glanced around the Keep desperately, as if hoping to find extra counteragent in a corner somewhere.  
  
"Even if I had made a bigger batch last time, it doesn't keep for long enough. It would be about ready to go bad by now anyway. And there wasn't a hint of this supply problem until it was too late. The ingredient doesn't keep all that long itself, either."  
  
He looked up to her with haunted eyes. "And what happens if you can't get any more of it by the time that last shot is gone?"  
  
The question didn't require an answer.  
  



	2. Part 2

Tensions were high in the office of the head of the Agency. Hobbes paced restlessly, anxious for some way to help his partner. Darien sat quietly, fingers gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were turning white.  
  
"Can't we just track down someone else who has this stuff?" Hobbes asked. "I mean, follow the supply chain down some other branches?"  
  
"I should be able to obtain access to their computers," Eberts asserted. "Tracking it down shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"Great! That's great! Then we can go and, and get it from whoever does have it," Hobbes said enthusiastically  
  
"It won't do any good," Claire replied, hating the fact that she had to be the voice of doom again. "The last batch they produced will only be good for another day, at best. Most of it's probably expired already."  
  
"It is doubtful," Eberts admitted, "that we would be able to track it down and acquire it in so short a time."  
  
"Can you synthsize it yourself, given the raw materials?" the Official asked her.  
  
"Probably, but it will take time to gather the necessary equipment and supplies. It isn't something I've ever needed to prepare myself before."  
  
Darien showed the first sign of life. "But you *can* make it yourself?"  
  
She hesitated. "Eventually," she hedged.  
  
"So what are you doing up here?" Hobbes demanded. "Go, go, order your eye of newt and your cauldron and let's start cooking!"  
  
"It's all ordered already. Most of it will be here within 24 hours. I should be able to get started some time tomorrow."  
  
She could see the hope dying in Darien's eyes. "And how long will it take, from there, to counteragent?"  
  
Every eye in the room was on Claire. She looked back at them helplessly, knowing the answer and wishing she could give a different one. Darien, at least, had guessed already, judging from his expression.  
  
"At least ten days...."  
  
Silence filled the room. He held up his monitor tattoo, which now showed eight segments red. She realized that some of his distraction, some of the guarded look in his eyes, was due to the growing headache at the base of his skull.  
  
"I think you'd better make sure that padded room is available," he told her resignedly.  
  



	3. Part 3

Darien lay quietly in his chair, savoring the peace within his skull. One last injection of counteragent. They'd held off as long as possible, until the madness had almost overwhelmed him. But now, he was free again.  
  
Part of him wondered if it was for the last time, but he ignored that part, loathe to spoil the moment.  
  
"Is that it?" Hobbes's voice cut into his reverie. He became aware, again, of the lingering sting at his elbow when his Keeper had given the injection. Of the weight of her fingers holding a gauze square over the site to apply pressure so he wouldn't bruise. Sighing, he opened his eyes.  
  
"How do you feel, partner?"  
  
"I feel fine, Hobbes," Darien reassured him. "No different than any other time Claire's given me a shot. C'mon, this week won't be any different from usual, until I hit seven segments and can't get a shot." He shrugged. "*Then*, you might not want to ask me. But until then, I've got at least five days of being just another guy. Footloose and quicksilver-free, right?"  
  
"Absolutely," Claire replied, fixing him with a stern gaze. "And that means *no* quicksilver, no matter how tempting the situation."  
  
"Hey, trust me, I don't want to end up in that straightjacket of yours a minute sooner than I have to."  
  
"So, uh, what do you want to do, partner?"  
  
"Well, today I think I just want to go hang out at the beach. You know, where Leila showed me. I know you're gonna want to stick by me like glue later on, so I think I'll enjoy being alone while I still can. While I can still trust myself."  
  
Hobbes looked like he'd aged ten years in the last day. "Sure, partner. Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
Darien waved over his shoulder as he strolled out the door.  
  
After the door was safely closed, Hobbes turned to the Keeper. "So, Keep. Level with me."  
  
"About what, specifically?" she asked warily.  
  
"About where he's headed. He's six days away from the red-eye. It sucks, but we've seen it before, we know how to handle him. But he's not gonna stay like that, is he?"  
  
"Not if I can get more counteragent synthesized...."  
  
"Ten days from now?"  
  
"Nine, now...."  
  
His gaze would brook no prevarication. She knew exactly what he was asking.  
  
"We only have the one example of how long it takes Darien to reach stage five. He was using quicksilver pretty heavily, which would tend to speed up its onset considerably. *If* we could find a way to keep Darien from quicksilvering once he's reached the point of quicksilver madness, there is a *chance* he might make it long enough before he enters stage 5, for me to get together enough counteragent to keep him from crossing that line."  
  
"That's an awful lot of ifs and chances."  
  
"You think I don't know that?" There were tears lurking in her voice, tears she didn't dare let loose. She had to stay focussed, efficient and effective, for Darien's sake. She was afraid sympathy from Bobby would shatter her control, but he followed her lead, perhaps to help keep his own emotions in check.  
  
"So what happens if we *can't* keep him from hitting stage five? That stage five counteragent I got from Arnaud, is that still any good?"  
  
"No idea. The regular counteragent has a short shelf life, but it doesn't necessarily follow that the stage five version's chemistry would be at all similar."  
  
"Did you figure out how to make it?"  
  
"From one sample? No. I didn't want to destroy it, in case it is still good, and there's only so much testing I can do *without* destroying it."  
  
"So what do we do, if he goes over the edge? Give it to him and hope?"  
  
"We may have to. But it would be a huge risk. Some components of counteragent become toxic as they decay. If the stage five version has gone bad, using it could kill him."  
  
Hobbes fixed her with a piercing gaze. "You know what Fawkes would choose. He'd rather take a chance on sanity or death, than risk getting loose and hurting someone." Claire hesitated, then nodded. "And you and I both know that if it comes down to the gland versus Fawkes, the fat man's gonna choose the gland. That's his job."  
  
"If he knows that the stage five counteragent could backfire, he might forbid me to try it," Claire acknowledged.  
  
Hobbes nodded, then caught her choice of words. "'If?'" He almost smiled. "You mean you'd...you'd neglect to mention that?"  
  
"I'll keep my options open as much as possible. That's all I can promise." She returned his hesitant smile with a tentative one of her own. "Hopefully, it will never come down to that choice."  
  
"Yeah," Hobbes replied. "Hopefully." There wasn't much hope in his voice, however.  



	4. Part 4

Darien paused in the doorway to the padded room. He just couldn't make himself go any further. Not with the Keeper there, waiting, straightjacket in hand. His partner stood behind him, ready to comfort him, or push him, or catch him if he fell in another attack.  
  
Everyone was looking at him with such pity. It was really starting to piss him off.  
  
Darien realized that, for all the time he'd spent in this room, for all the times he'd woken up there, he had never before voluntarily allowed them to put him there. He stared at the straightjacket. Around the lump in his throat, he squeezed out a few words. "Uh, hang on." he glanced from one to the other. "Are you sure we have to do this now? I mean, come on, it's not --"  
  
He saw Hobbes getting tense, and realized his partner was ready to fight him if he had to, to keep him from leaving. He had no choice. The thought angered him enough he was almost ready to fight, just to show he wasn't going to go out meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter.  
  
Then the attack hit him. A burst of pain in the back of his head, hitting hard and fast. He staggered, hand flying to his head, and slumped against the doorway.  
  
They both ran to him, helping support him but also moving him inside, into that room where he did not want to go. They were talking, something soothing but firm, but words were beyond him. They couldn't get through the red haze of pain.  
  
He tried to fight, tried to pull away, to run, escape the trap, but another wave of pain brought him to his knees, then crashing down onto his side, curled in a ball of agony.  
  
He knew there was only one way to stop it. Not the pain, because that would only get worse. But the suffering it caused, that would vanish when the madness took over. He wouldn't care, in that crimson freedom.  
  
He could feel the rest of his body only dimly, but he knew they'd be putting the cursed straightjacket on him, hating themselves for it all the time. The voices of madness whispered that if he gave in, he could catch them unawares, break free and escape.  
  
They were so seductive. The relief was so tempting. But part of him was still aware that he didn't want to hurt anyone, that his friends were in danger if he surrendered. That part fought on, blindly, clinging to sanity by bleeding fingertips, until finally a tidal wave of pain and madness rolled through his head, too strong to fight, and he was washed away in its undertow, a tiny voice in his mind still screaming....  
  
The jacket was on him, but they were still working on the buckles in the back. Darien rolled from his side onto his back and brought his feet up against Hobbes' chest in one smooth motion, shoving him away and into the edge of the doorway with a madman's strength.  
  
Claire's hand was trapped beneath his body for a critical moment, the buckle she'd been working on digging into the skin painfully. He'd rocked back with the kick, and now he let the momentum of rebound carry his head upward, slamming his skull into her face. His Keeper fell backwards, off balance, her nose bleeding.  
  
He twisted onto his side, then over onto his knees, and tucked his feet under and rose with a feral grace he could never manage when he was himself and full of doubts and fears.  
  
Again momentum carried him forward, towards his partner, and he swung one leg back for a vicious kick. His only thought now was of escape.  
  
Hobbes, flat on his back, saw his opening and swept a foot against the leg Darien now balanced on, hooking it towards him and pulling the madman off balance so that he fell backwards. Back into the room.  
  
They were both back up in an instant, facing each other warily.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you, partner!" Hobbes cautioned, hands in guard position, weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move to attack or defend.  
  
"Good!" Fawkes growled, putting his head down and charging. His momentum was harder to counter than a kick or punch would have been. Hobbes dodged to the side, pushing Darien forward into the wall, using that momentum against him. He hit the padding and bounced off, but didn't lose his footing.  
  
Hobbes stood between Darien and the doorway, panting. His worried eyes looked directly into Darien's crimson ones. Darien smiled. He rolled his shoulders, and the straightjacket loosened around him. He charged again, trying to carry them both out the doorway with the impact.  
  
Just before he reached Hobbes, his arm pulled free of the tie behind his back, and his fist, within the long sleeve, drove hard into the older agent's stomach.  
  
Hobbes countered just a little too late. He staggered, the wind partly knocked out of him, but didn't go down. Fawkes didn't hesitate, sweeping Hobbes' legs and hitting his kidneys with the other fist. Hobbes dodged back, off-balance, the only direction he could, out the door and into the hallway.  
  
Darien was moving fast. He swung his right arm, the buckle on the end of the long sleeve swinging out, its edges gleaming. Hobbes was forced back another step dodging it.  
  
It gave Darien just enough room. He bolted to the left, into open hallway. He felt the thrill of adrenaline, let it call up the quicksilver. It flooded out of his pores, covering him, wrapping him in its warm coccoon even as he ran. He laughed at Hobbes, shouting after him, at the Keeper calling his name.  
  
Then he felt a sharp pain in the back of one thigh, and looked down to see a black dart protruding from the silver which had not yet faded to nothingness.  
  
He looked back in cold fury to see his Keeper lowering the tranquilizer gun. He snarled inarticulately, took a step forward. His second step wouldn't hold him, and he fell to his knees. He comforted himself that at least he'd gotten to hurt them a little before they could capture him. Then sleep overtook him and he wasn't even aware of their hands as they broke his fall and eased him to the floor.  



	5. Part 5

Claire leaned against a lab bench, holding an ice pack against her nose. The bleeding had stopped, but the blasted thing was going to be very sore.  
  
"Well, that could have gone better...."  
  
Hobbes was subdued. "How long will that dart of yours keep him out?"  
  
"A few hours. It can be a bit unpredictable once he goes into quicksilver madness. Time enough for me to move this along a few more steps," Claire added, gesturing at the chemisty equipment scattered about the lab.  
  
"How much longer, Keep? Until, you know, until you've got some of the good stuff ready for him?"  
  
"Three more days. And yes, I know it's time we may not have!"  
  
Hobbes glanced at all the equipment. "Anything I can do to help?"  
  
"Thanks, Bobby, but the last step won't be finished for another hour."  
  
"And when's the last time you got any sleep?"  
  
She waved him off. "I've done with less."  
  
"You've got three more days to get through, remember? C'mon, at least come out of here for half an hour and get some lunch. You'll do better with something to race your engine on. I know this great little Italian place, just a couple of blocks from here...."  
  
"No, I should stay," she said halfheartedly, "Keep an eye on Darien -- "  
  
"We just left him. He's in a straightjacket in a padded room. Even if he wakes up, what's he gonna do? Eberts will call if anything happens."  
  
"Oh, alright," she said, rubbing her eyes wearily. "It'll help me stay awake."  
  
"Sure, a little fresh air, a little walk, it'll do you some good." Hobbes steered her towards the door before she could change her mind.  
  
  
Elsewhere in the building, Fawkes stirred restlessly in his sleep.  
  
Eberts watched nervously through the two-way mirror. He was sure this wasn't part of his job description. He tried to distract himself with the annual reports, but even they couldn't quite calm him this time. He began going through the budget reports again, checking over the math on the sections the Official had worked on.  
  
He deliberately buried himself in the numbers. When the electronic chirp sounded, he jumped up and back, scattering papers across the room. His eyes flew to the window, but his charge was still lying where he'd last seen him.  
  
Only when the sound repeated did he recognize it as the ringing of a cell phone. It took a couple more rings before he calmed down enough to sheepishly answer it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Albert! Have you gotten your apartment back into the hopelessly tidy state it was in before my little....visit?"  
  
"How did you get this number?" Eberts stammared.  
  
"Oh, come on! I was *you*, of course I'd know your cell phone number. The bloody thing pops up every time you turn it on."  
  
** Pull yourself together,** Eberts thought. ** I can do this, I'm trained to be an agent when I have to be. Just....just take command of the situation. **  
  
"What do you want?" Eberts asked in a somewhat firmer tone of voice.  
  
"Just wondering how well I'd judged the timing here. Tell me, how is our friend doing? Is he screaming in restraints yet?"  
  
Eberts knew this one. Don't give the enemy any more information than necessary. "Do you hear any screaming?" he asked, with a bit more confidence. He glanced guiltily at Fawkes, but the agent did not choose that inopportune moment to wake up.  
  
"No matter," Arnaud replied. "If he isn't, he soon will be. I know all about the key ingredient that no one can get hold of."  
  
"And I suppose you're calling to offer us some fresh counteragent out of the goodness of your heart?"  
  
"I'm afraid even I can't get ahold of that ingredient just now. And it takes *so* *long* to make it up from scratch! But there is a different recipe, one that doesn't require that particular agent. One that I think you'll be needing, before too long...."  
  
"You....you...." Eberts was not a violent man, but the gloating in Arnaud's voice made him want to strangle him.  
  
"I'll be in touch," Arnaud told Eberts. Then the line went dead. 


	6. Part 6

It was amazing what a little fresh air and some good food could do. She almost felt human again, and felt a little more ready to tackle the challenges facing her. There were plenty of them. Foremost was how to keep Darien from using quicksilver.  
  
Claire's cell phone chirped from her bag. Her mind was on other things when she answered. The voice on the other end brought her back in a hurry!  
  
"Hi, it's Mark. Listen, when you said even one vial would help, did you mean it?"  
  
She froze in her tracks, Hobbes coming to a halt a pace ahead of her and turning in concern.  
  
"Is it Eberts? Is something wrong with Fawkes?"  
  
She waved him away, covered her other ear with her hand to shut out the traffic noise of the busy street.  
  
"Absolutely! But how --"  
  
"They're testing out the equipment, making sure all the bugs are out. They ran a test batch, and I was able to snag a leftover vial. Do you still want it?"  
  
"Do I ever!" Then she thought again. "Are you sure it's any good?"  
  
"They're still testing the other samples, but nothing's turned up so far. They'll be done in a few hours, want me to call back then?"  
  
"Yeah, that's -- no, wait! Can you bring that vial by now? I'm short on time, and I'd rather start processing it and have to throw out the results, than not start and lose more time."  
  
"If you're sure...."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure! Please, Mark, it would be a really big favor."  
  
"I'll be there in an hour."  
  
Claire closed the phone thoughtfully, looking up at Hobbes with new hope in her eyes.  
  
"Keep, was that what it sounded like from this end? You got some of this stuff you've been breaking your back to make, just fall into your lap?"  
  
She started back towards the Keep briskly. "It's only one vial. It won't make enough counteragent for a full injection, but it'll buy us some time!"  
  
"Like, maybe, time enough to finish making what you're cooking up in the basement?"  
  
"Maybe. Maybe." She tapped the cell phone against her leg as she walked. "I'll have to keep going with this, plus start a small batch of counteragent, have both processes going at once. The timing's going to be a bitch...."  
  
When her cell phone rang again she almost dropped it. She flipped it open cautiously, afraid it would be Mark again, saying there was a problem with the test batch after all.  
  
"Eberts, what's happened? Is Darien alright?"  
  
Hobbes waited impatiently again, listening to only one side of a conversation that he knew concerned his partner.  
  
"What??? Of all the-- what did he say?"  
  
"Well, we may not need him after all. But I won't know for sure for a little while yet. You let me know the second he calls back!"  
  
She closed the cell phone much more firmly this time, with a snap that made Hobbes wince.  
  
"Arnaud just called," Claire told him.  
  
Both looking much more grim, they entered the Agency building, heading for the observation room. 


	7. Part 7

(Just a quick note. Obviously this one occurs before Possessed and Enemy of My Enemy….it also comes before Mere Mortals, so the adrenaline blocker Claire used there is still on the drawing board, considered too dangerous to try. So Claire has to go for something that doesn't affect the gland itself to stop Darien from quicksilvering. Keep those reviews coming, gang, my muses need encouragement!)  
  
  
  
Pain. Overwhelming pain in his head. Smaller aches and pains from the struggle. A new, sharp pain in his upper arm. He couldn't move yet, but he was becoming aware. A needle, cutting through skin....the dull ache of an injection into muscle.  
  
Voices.  
  
"That's got it. I'll be back in *five* minutes. You remember what to do if --"  
  
"I got it. He'll be fine. Go!"  
  
Someone's in a hurry, he thought. He could hear footsteps moving rapidly away, could feel the vibrations in the floor, and had an urge to chase.  
  
A hand on his shoulder. "Hang in there, partner."  
  
They'd done this to him. What gave them the right? Arms held tight, legs felt like they were tied together now.  
  
Head still free.  
  
His vision wasn't quite back yet. He snapped blindly, teeth connecting with cloth. He hung on like a bulldog, pulled halfway up despite the restraints before his hold gave way. He laughed at the way his partner swore.  
  
"Dammit, Fawkes!" He could hear Hobbes moving around. "This is a nice shirt! Not one of your flea market castoffs."  
  
"I'll trade you." He shrugged his shoulders within the straightjacket. "This one's a lot more durable."  
  
"No thank you. It's not very comfortable."  
  
Darien pried open his eyes. The room seemed too bright, sounds too loud. Everything was sharp and painfully clear. The vision of madness. He caught Hobbes staring at his eyes and knew they must be completely red by now.  
  
"C'mon, Hobbsie, you've seen it before." He widened his eyes and stared right back at his partner.  
  
"Yeah, and I still wish I could put sunglasses on you in here....."  
  
The manic grin nearly split his face. "Wait, wait, I've got something better. You don't like red?"  
  
He didn't know how he controlled where quicksilver went. It was instinctive now, which was the level he was operating at. Something different inside, and his tears turned to silver and his vision went all shiney. Such a relief, compared to all those sharp colors.  
  
Only this time it didn't happen.  
  
His grin faded. Something wasn't working the way it always had. That always pissed him off.  
  
"Well, what do you know? It worked."  
  
He glared at Hobbes, growled, "What worked?"  
  
"Little thing the Keeper came up with, blocks production of adrenaline, cortisol, all those little signals of stress. Basically shuts off your adrenal glands for a little while."  
  
Straining against the jacket, kicking his feet trying to loosen his bonds, he also tried to release the quicksilver across his whole body. Nothing happened, on any front.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, partner."  
  
"Not enough I got one screwed-up gland, you gotta mess with the rest of 'em too?"  
  
"Hey, it's the only way she could think of to keep you from burning through a lot of quicksilver and sending yourself silver before your time."  
  
"Oh, sure, can't let me have any fun. So why haven't you locked me in? Gonna read to me? Sing me lulabyes?"  
  
"I've got to keep an eye on you while Claire's busy making you some nice fresh counteragent. This isn't exactly the safest thing to be messing with, you know. Keeper said something about inducing a case of Addy....Addis...some kinda disease. We gotta make sure you don't get sick from your adrenal glands not doing what they're supposed to."  
  
He noticed the syringe now. Not his usual glass counteragent syringe, a smaller plastic one. Hobbes was going to stick him with it, sooner or later, he was sure.  
  
Unless he could figure a way loose....then he could stick Hobbsie with it instead.  
  
He shifted around until he could lean against the wall. Hobbes had apparently learned his lesson, because he made no effort to help. He grinned at that thought. A little faster, and maybe he could have drawn blood.  
  
"And she left *you* in charge of my well-being? Gr-r-ea-at....." Couldn't hurt him, make him bleed, make him scream, make him pay for this, but he could still do damage other ways. "Still, I guess we're both where we belong now. Oh, no, wait. No one ran out of *your* medication, did they? You've still got your precious pills. You can walk out that door....."  
  
"I am not going to leave you, partner."  
  
"That's right, Lithium Bob doesn't bail on his partners. No, he just lets them be locked up, locks himself up with 'em. I was right the first time, you *do* belong in here."  
  
"Now, I know that's just the quicksilver talking. I'm gonna stay cool, gonna look after you, wait for Claire to finish what she's got to do downstairs...."  
  
"You'll look after me, all right. You think I don't have your number? If something happens to me, then your way is clear."  
  
"I don't get you, partner."  
  
"Well, Claire only works here to take care of me. If I'm out of the picture, then she's off the company pier. And you'd just love that, wouldn't you, Hobbsie?" Part of him was gleeful that he'd scored against his guard, even though he knew his partner wouldn't do that. Another part knew it could happen, that anything could happen, anyone could turn. Nothing was safe.  
  
He'd have to find his own way out, escape, get away from their needles and straightjackets and stares full of pity and contempt. He shifted his feet about, slowly, first twisting one way, then the other. He knew eventually he could get himself some slack. And then they'd have to come over to him to tie him up again, and he would have a chance at them.  
  
  
  
  
  
Claire waited impatiently by the door, scanning the street for any sign of Mark. He drove an old corvette when he got the chance, and when it was working. She had no idea what car he'd be in if the old girl had broken down again.  
  
Finally she spotted the vette, top down, sliding up to the front of the building. She leaned over the top of the passenger door to talk to him.  
  
"Do you have it?"  
  
"What, I don't even rate a hello anymore?"  
  
She gave him her trademark stern look, and he grinned and reached into the back seat for a small styrofoam cooler.  
  
"Thank you, Mark, I can't tell you how much this means." She reached for the cooler, but he moved it back a little.  
  
"I'm sure you could think of a way, Claire....."  
  
She couldn't help but grin. Same old Mark. "I really don't have the time right now....." His face fell. "But if this works, once the...once the experiment is complete, this is worth at least a dinner out...."  
  
"Only if I get to pick the place. Salad-By-The-Pound just isn't gonna show much appreciation."  
  
Claire pulled the cooler out of his grip. "We'll see. And thank you again."  
  
She didn't even wait to see him drive away, resisting the urge to break into a run only by reminding herself what could happen if she broke this vial.  
  
The next three or four days would make her residency look like cake walk. She'd have to juggle one batch of counteragent with this stuff, the rest of the synthesis and then another batch of counteragent, and monitoring Darien's condition and treating any Addisonian crisises brought on by her meddling with his endocrine system.  
  
She frowned as she rode down to the Keep in the elevator. She'd need some sort of backup, in case an emergency came up at the wrong moment in the processing. Bobby was no good for this, she just knew he'd try to rush things, and besides she needed him with Darien while she was occupied downstairs.  
  
Who in the Agency would have the patience and precision to be able to handle the carefully timed steps involved and the dull waiting in between?  
  
She knew the perfect person. 


	8. Part 8

Darien struggled within the straightjacket. Some small part of his mind still knew that his frantic efforts would get him nowhere, that he should work slowly and methodically, but in this condition he just couldn't sustain the effort.  
  
The more he struggled, the more frustrated he became. Frustrated, and angry.  
  
His partner stood dithering nearby, telling him to calm down, shifting his weight as the impulse to go to him fought the knowledge that right now he was too dangerous to approach. Hobbes sounded more worried than Darien would have expected. After all, he'd been in this room, in this straightjacket, before, and not been able to hurt himself.  
  
Tiresome little troll, always thinking *he* knew best, *he* would protect Darien, save Darien, who cares whether he *wants* to be saved, who ever cares what *he* wants?  
  
He tried to quicksilver, to send that silver blanket flowing across him. Just like he fought the restraints, he fought his inability to quicksilver. Sent the danger signals to his body that told it to bring out this defense mechanism. Kept trying, kept fighting, until a wave of dizziness sent him crashing to the floor.  
  
His stomach twisting in knots, he retched, barely able to move. The sudden weakness frustrated him almost as much as it frightened him. His heart was beating a mile a minute. What was happening? For a moment the madness dissolved into blank confusion, and he couldn't remember where he was or why he was here.  
  
Hobbes watched his partner's collapse in horror. It was one thing for Claire to describe the symptoms he had to watch out for, another to see them happening right in front of him.  
  
"C'mon, partner," he coaxed, grabbing the syringe Claire had left for him. "Hang in there, everything's going to be fine."  
  
He saw the anger and frustration giving way, and tried to encourage the calmer mood. "That's right, Fawkes. Don't get excited. I told you your body can't handle stress right now, this is no time to be getting yourself all worked up."  
  
Darien, lying there trembling, looked too weak now to fight, to attack him, but Hobbes still approached cautiously.  
  
"I'm gonna get you fixed up, Fawkes. This is just a little bit of that adrenal juice you're missing, just enough to keep you from croaking on us. We got too much invested in you to let you put yourself into shock."  
  
The chatter was to soothe himself as much as to distract his partner from the injection. It took a minute to take effect, one of the longest minutes in Hobbes' life. He cradled his partner, keeping him on his side in case the retching brought anything up, trying to calm him back down without staying too long and getting caught by the violence of returning madness.  
  
Darien shifted from gagging, to sobbing miserably. "It's not worth it, Hobbes...."  
  
"Hang in there, partner. Keeper's working on getting you some nice fresh counteragent, and then we can get you back to as close to normal as your sorry ass gets."  
  
"She's going to kill me, Hobbes. Or I'm going to get loose and kill both of you first. I can't do this, I can't...."  
  
"What, are you giving up? Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna *let* you give up. I'm gonna get you through this, Keeper and I are gonna have you back to your old self, or --"  
  
He started to say, "or die trying," but caught himself in time. That would not be a good image to bring up just now.  
  
Much as he wanted to continue comforting Fawkes, he knew that the anger and frustration would return, sooner or later. Besides, he had to call the Keeper and let her know what had happened. Reluctantly, he eased his partner back onto the floor. He lay, curled in a ball, shoulders hitching as he sobbed, like a little child. No inhibitions.  
  
Hobbes moved across the room and dialed the number for the Keep. 


	9. Part 9

Eberts shifted nervously as he listened to one end of a phone call. If watching a sleeping Darien had been outside of his job description, what was playing lab assistant to the Keeper?  
  
"An Addisonian crisis? Already?" she asked, dismayed. "Bloody Hell!"  
  
She listened, nodding and pacing. "Did you get it in alright? Good. And how did he respond?"  
  
"No, no, you did fine, Bobby. Just fine. I'll be down to check on him just as soon as I can, I promise!"  
  
She hung up and turned back to Eberts. She was clearly rushed now, but also trying to be precise and thorough. The way she pulled off the combination made Eberts' head spin.  
  
"Albert, I need you to handle the next step for me. I know you can do it, you're the only one here I'd trust with this sort of work."  
  
She led him, protesting, to the counter where a vial of milky white liquid sat on top of a heat unit, a little magnetized bar inside the glass stirring the mixture constantly.  
  
"This really is outside my area of expertise. Rather far outside...."  
  
"Look, just keep an eye on the clock here. When it hits ten minutes, you need to turn the temperature down to medium, here, and start adding this powder. Slowly!" She demonstrated, scooping up a small amount with a tongue depressor and letting it sift back down onto the paper. "Keep adding it until the solution turns clear, and then pour it, very carefully but as quickly as you can, into this beaker here. Then keep the beaker on ice until I get back. Can you handle that?"  
  
"I believe so. It seems clearcut enough." She was already heading for the door by the time he could add, "But will I be able to call you if something goes wrong?"  
  
She didn't break her stride. "Dial star-ten on that phone. And *pray* that nothing *does* go wrong, for Darien's sake."  
  
Then she was out the door, leaving Eberts staring after her, wishing she would somehow make it back before the timer reached ten minutes. He pulled his eyes away and stood watching the clock intently, determined to do his part and do it well. 


	10. part 10

Claire felt a loose strand of hair falling towards her eyes, and carefully tossed her head trying to move it without disturbing the work occupying both hands on the bench before her.  
  
It would be two and a half minutes before she could spare a moment to fix her slipping hair tie.  
  
She felt a presence behind her. It had to be the Official, he was the only one who would stand there so long without saying anything, but she couldn't break off to talk to him. Perhaps he'd stay quiet until she finished this step.  
  
"Progress report." Not a question, not a request.  
  
She kept her eyes on her work as she replied irritably, "Now is not a good time." As an afterthought she added, "Sir."  
  
Much to her relief, he seemed to accept that answer, staying silent until she had finished. Finally turning to face him, she pulled out the slipping scrunchie and gathered her hair away from her face as she acknowledged him.  
  
"I've got five minutes."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"The counteragent from Mark's sample should be done in another half hour. As I feared, it won't be enough for a full dose, but I'm hoping it will be enough to ward off stage five madness until the full batch I just started is completed."  
  
She gulped several swallows from a can of cola. It was bloody hot in the lab, with two bunsen burners and a hot plate going.  
  
"And Fawkes?" The Official had no patience for human needs like food and drink, at least not in his employees.  
  
"He's had three Addisonian crises so far, but the corticosteriods are pulling him out of them and warding off shock. He should survive long enough." She hated to sound so cold, but she had no time for sugar-coating and the Official had no patience for it. "Evaluating the gland will have to wait until Darien is more stable and more cooperative."  
  
He actually seemed to hesitate before asking the next question. "Do you still need Eberts?" She wondered what budgetary crisis could possibly be important enough to even consider pulling her newfound assistant away.  
  
"I'll need him at least until the mini-batch of counteragent is completed, after that it will depend on how Darien reacts to it and how much care he needs from me."  
  
The Official looked disappointed. She could almost imagine she saw a bit of worry breaking through his iron control, too. She wondered cynically if it was worry for Darien, or worry over how long he'd have to do without his right hand man.  
  
But the Official only grunted. "Keep me posted," he ordered.  
  
Glancing at the clock, she saw that he'd left her almost two minutes. How generous. She grabbed some yogurt from the fridge and shoved a couple spoonfuls into her mouth as she race-walked to Lab Three, where Eberts was working with equipment there hadn't been room for in the main lab. She'd need the fruits of his labors in another seventeen and a half minutes. 


	11. part 11

Hobbes watched his partner worriedly. Darien looked so pale, so worn out. The Keeper was supposed to be finishing up that mini-batch of counteragent any time now. He hoped it would be soon.  
  
Darien's legs moved a little, a desultory attempt to loosen the ropes that bound them, but even that seemed too much effort for him.  
  
"Hobbsie...." he whispered.  
  
"I'm here, Fawkes." Hobbes moved closer, still careful to stay out of range of any attacks, wishing there were something more he could do for his partner.  
  
"She's killing me, Bobby....." Lying on the floor of the padded room, Darien rolled over to face his partner. The red eyes looking at him were sunken, his face covered with a sheen of cold sweat.  
  
"Hang in there, Fawkes! Keeper's almost done."  
  
"I can't....I'm so tired....." Darien's head sank back to the floor, his eyes closing. "Please...Bobby....don't let her do this to me...."  
  
His body began trembling. Hobbes reached for one of the syringes the Keeper had left for him, the corticosteroids that could help stave off shock, cursing to himself.  
  
"Dammit, Fawkes, don't do this again. Fawkes!"  
  
He gave the injection. Darien barely seemed aware of him, and although the trembling slowly faded, he didn't seem to come out of it all the way. Worried, Hobbes pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Keep. 


	12. part 12

Eberts watched the beaker before him. His usual crisply pressed suit was rumpled, his neat tie lay in a heap on one of the counters, and if he'd had more hair it would have been disarrayed.  
  
The past few days had been difficult, assisting Claire with two separate batches of counteragent at different stages, trying to master the required steps on the fly. Especially knowing how much was at stake.  
  
Claire herself looked even worse, since only the more basic procedures could be passed on to Eberts. She'd given up her usual neat attire in favor of a T-shirt and sweatpants, which he was certain were the same clothing she'd been wearing for at least the past two days.  
  
He tapped powder from a vial onto a gram scale, carefully measuring out precisely the amount Claire needed for the next step, all the while keeping one eye on the beaker to make sure it didn't overheat and boil away.  
  
The phone rang, and Claire, still holding an oddly-shaped glass container in one hand and shaking it vigorously, scooped up the receiver with the other hand and tucked it between her chin and shoulder.  
  
"Bobby? What, again?" She seemed to shake the container with renewed urgency, as if the process could be sped up, while listening and frowning. "You'd better give him another dose, then." Eberts inferred from her tone that this was not a good thing. "God, just ten more minutes...."  
  
She walked towards a bench and stopped short as the spiral cord almost pulled the phone out of her tenuous hold. She moved back, hit the button for speakerphone, and dropped the receiver, letting it swing, as she hurried back to the bench. Claire fitted the glass thing back into one of her chemistry contraptions. In glances snuck in between his own tasks, Eberts could see the contents settling out into two layers.  
  
One layer had a distinctive, familiar blue tint. Faint, but there. The end was literally within sight.  
  
"Okay, Keep....I'm gonna put the phone down to give him his shot....I'll be right back."  
  
"Fine, Bobby. If you can describe his reactions, that would be a big help."  
  
Claire came back into Ebert's line of sight so close that he jumped, almost spilling the white tablets he was grinding into a fine powder. She picked up the chemical he'd measured earlier and moved away again, too intent on her own tasks to notice his mishap.  
  
He sighed at the near miss. Then a loud noise from right behind him startled him again. He caught himself just in time, and carefully set the mortar and pestal down.  
  
It was his cell phone. He answered it warily.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Eberts. Has Fawkes gone silver yet?"  
  
"Arnaud. No, he hasn't, and he's not going to!"  
  
Claire's eyes came up swiftly. He glanced at the speakerphone, but he could hear only faintly the sound of Hobbes talking soothingly to his partner.  
  
"We'll see, we'll see. I don't suppose I could speak to our dear Claire?"  
  
"She's busy," he said roughly, his usual calm, patience and manners all frayed. But Claire, one eye on the speakerphone, held out a hand in a 'gimme' gesture. The other hand turned a knob at the base of the glass container, and the greasy yellow bottom layer began to drain away. The pale blue layer floated pristinely on top.  
  
Eberts rose long enough to pass his cell phone to Claire, and went back to his grinding with a vengeance.  
  
"What do you want, Arnaud?"  
  
"The usual....power, money, women....you?"  
  
"I have what I want, or I will in a few minutes."  
  
"Oh, really? Now let's see, you can't have made your own from scratch, not that soon, wherever could you have gotten a supply from?"  
  
Claire turned the stopcock at the bottom of the vial closed and added the akylizing agent Eberts had measured out. She gestured him over and passed it to him, motioning to shake vigorously.  
  
"Does it matter? We're on the final step. Darien will get his counteragent, *before* he hits stage five, so *you* are not needed."  
  
She wished she were as certain as she sounded. It would still be mostly luck if the small first batch was enough to tide them over until the full batch was ready.  
  
"Don't be too sure...."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Eberts' wrists were getting sore. Claire took the container back and fitted it back into place. He returned to his interrupted task, a step in preparing the next, full batch of counteragent, keeping one eye on the vial.  
  
It was cloudy now, but was again gradually settling out into layers.  
  
He watched as Claire's face slowly drained of color. She slammed the cell phone closed. "Bloody hell."  
  
She gestured Eberts over. "When this has separated out completely, that bottom layer will be pure counteragent. I need you to drain it off, but don't let any of the top layer get into the flask. Got it?"  
  
She was already dialing on the cell phone. Eberts wondered fleetingly whether he had any minutes left, and whether he'd be able to bill the Agency if he didn't.  
  
"How's it going, Bobby?" She called to the speakerphone as she dialed.  
  
"Not so good. It's in, but he's still looking like crap. Where's that blue stuff?"  
  
"Almost got it. Hang on."  
  
Someone must have answered on the other line, because Claire moved to the side, covering one ear. "Hello, Mark?"  
  
Eberts watched the vial. Slowly, the grey suspension was separating out into layers. The top was a bright red color, the bottom layer.....  
  
"Oh, crap!" he exclaimed. "Claire!"  
  
"Well, could you get him? It's extremely urgent."  
  
"Claire!" he repeated, a note of panic in his voice now catching her attention.  
  
The bottom layer was not the familiar clear blue. It was a cloudy purple, very much unlike the counteragent it was supposed to be.  
  
"Bloody hell...." she murmured.  
  
  
The speakerphone, forgotten but still active, carried their words down to Bobby Hobbes in the padded room. He started to ask what was going on, but was drawn away by a strangled sound from his partner. Darien was trembling and retching, in the midst of another attack.  
  
"Damn!" Hobbes exclaimed. "This is too soon, partner, way too soon." He grabbed another syringe and quickly injected Darien again.  
  
The spasm eased. His partner lay still for a moment. Hobbes reached over to touch his neck, looking for a pulse  
  
His hand met freezing cold. He heard a low chuckle.  
  
"Fooled you...."  
  
Quicksilver crawled across his partner, turning him silver. Darien rolled onto his feet with more energy than Hobbes would have credited. His face came into view for an instant, grinning that maniacal grin, before fading away into nothingness.  
  
"Oh, crap...." 


	13. part 13

Claire's heart was breaking into a million pieces. It hadn't worked. All her hard work, all *their* hard work, and she was going to lose him anyway. It wasn't fair.  
  
It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and she wouldn't *let* it be true, damn it!  
  
A click from the phone at her ear drew her attention away. "Mark?"  
  
"Claire, they said you needed to -- "  
  
"Mark, there's something wrong with the test batch. I need to know what, and I need to know *now*!"  
  
"Something wrong with it? But they checked it! It tested out pure!"  
  
"Then they missed something. This is *so* important, I really need you to help me find out what -- "  
  
This time Claire was cut off by sounds from the speakerphone, still active halfway across the room. Bobby's "Oh, crap...." had caught half her attention, but now there were sounds of a struggle coming from the speaker. She looked, in agony, from the ruined batch of counteragent, to the full batch still in progress, to the speakerphone and the door beyond it. Eberts was looking at her with the same agonized indecision.  
  
Finally, she punched the disconnect on the speakerphone, hitting the speeddial for the Official's office.  
  
"This is him."  
  
"Get to the padded room, now!" Claire shouted, cutting him off again before he could tie her up with demands for explanations. "Keep going, Albert," she said, gesturing to his half-completed work on the next stage in synthesizing the full batch of counteragent. "We can't do Darien any good until we get a workable remedy."  
  
Her hand had been covering the mouthpiece of the cell phone while she talked. She brought it back to her ears, only to be met with the annoying on-hold music Mark's company favored. She stared at the flask of red fluid, her mind racing.  
  
....racing....the word bounced around in her head, trying to connect to something.....racing....racemer.....  
  
"Isomers!" Claire exclaimed.  
  
"Is that like Eureka?" Eberts asked hopefully.  
  
The dreadful on-hold music cut off. "Claire? I got all the test data...."  
  
"Mark, check to see whether they tested the handedness of the molecules produced."  
  
She could hear him flipping pages. "Optical isomers? I can see how that might slip through the cracks...."  
  
Eberts looked confused, mouth open, trying to figure out how to even ask what she was talking about. "Handedness?"  
  
"Like a right and left hand, Eberts! They look almost exactly the same, mirror images of each other, but only one of them can fit into a right-handed glove!"  
  
"And how does this help us?"  
  
"Well, if this is what I think it is," she said, tapping the vial of purple fluid, "then half of it is perfectly good counteragent."  
  
"And the other half?"  
  
"That's what we're trying to -- Yes, Mark?"  
  
Claire and her chemist friend descended into a spate of jargon so thick Eberts knew it would take him weeks to understand any sort of attempt at an explanation. He wished it wasn't happening on his cell phone; he would have liked to be able to call upstairs to find out what was happening.....  
  
  
  
  
  
[Note: Due to fanfiction.net's recent decision to begin censoring fanfics posted here, instead of the previous sensible practice of labeling adult material as such and letting the reader decide what to read, this will be the last part of "Supply Problem" posted here. Future installments may be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/IMfanfic/ and possibly other sites if other options become available. To paraphrase the supreme court, I don't believe the Internet should be limited only to matters fit for young children, rather it should be as diverse as human thought. If ffnet management comes to their senses I'll go back to posting here. -CK] 


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